


Do you believe in magic?

by my_proof_is_you



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Auras, Budding Love, F/M, Fluff and Smut, More tags to be added, Past Abuse, Self-Harm, new powers, reader is a witch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:24:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_proof_is_you/pseuds/my_proof_is_you
Summary: Your thirtieth birthday was eventful, to say the least.You suddenly have these powers you knew nothing about. You meet two brothers who tell you that you are a witch. The taller one is friendly and wants to help you. The green-eyed one...not so much.As you begin to discover what you can really do, things become more and more complicated, and you find that being alone is a lot harder than it ever was before.Luckily, one brother wants to help you. Can you change the other’s mind?You have a past, and you don’t deal with it well. You hope you can keep your secrets from them, but the past always has a way of catching up with you.





	1. Chapter 1

You

You felt different when you woke up that morning. It was your thirtieth birthday. You didn’t think you would feel any different. After all, you had felt the same when you woke up on your twenty-first birthday, your twenty-fifth—all the milestones. But that day you felt different.

You didn’t feel older...at least, you didn’t think that’s what the feeling was. If anything, you actually felt more alive than you had in a long time. It was almost as if there was this energy coursing through your veins that you had never felt before.

You got dressed and went to work like you would any other day. You worked at a law firm as an assistant. It wasn’t your dream job, but it paid the bills. The law firm was actually so successful that they were able to pay you very well for the title you held.

You adjusted your button down shirt, making sure it was tucked in perfectly to your pencil skirt. Your boss, Mr. Wesley, was very adamant about everything being in its place, and you found that if you made your appearance extremely put together, it usually made the day start off better. You wiggled your toes in your high heels, trying to make sure the circulation wasn’t cut off. You weren’t a huge fan of them, but again, your boss liked the look.

You took a deep breath and lightly knocked on the mahogany door to Mr. Wesley’s office.

“Come,” you heard from inside. You opened the door and walked in, quietly closing it behind you.

“Good morning, Mr. Wesley,” you said brightly. You were still facing the door and trying to balance his coffee and the files he had requested in your hands.

“Morning,” he began. He sounded the same as always: angry and annoyed. You had learned that he wasn’t usually angry with you, that this was just how he sounded. “Oh, and uh, happy birthday.”

You were surprised that he knew it was your birthday. “Thank you so much, Mr. Wesley,” you said, turning to look at him. When you did, you were slightly taken aback.

Mr. Wesley was a mid-height balding man. What little hair he did have left was salt-and-pepper, and he had watery brown eyes. He was round, his metabolism clearly having slowed down when he hit middle age.

This was exactly how he looked when you turned around. However, there was something different about him.

You had always been able to read people’s moods really well. You could look at someone and almost know what kind of mood they were in before they even spoke. Mr. Wesley’s mood was pretty much always the same. You knew what to expect. That day, though, you could see his aura.

You never had really put any stock into things like auras. You thought that when someone was “reading your aura” they were really just doing what you did: looking at someone and having a feel for what mood they were in.

All around Mr. Wesley there was a sort of shimmering light. It was red in color, with streaks of orange flowing throughout. If you had to put a color to his usual mood, that would be it.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” He asked. You had been staring at him for several moments. When he spoke the colors faded until it was just him again.

“Y-yes, I’m fine. Here is the Olsen account,” you said, walking forward and giving it to him. You went over his schedule for the day with him in a daze, confused at what you had just seen.

When you left his office, you ran into several other employees. Each one had their own aura, different shades and nuances around every person. They were all perfectly fitting, too. People you knew to be upbeat and happy had yellows and golds; those who were always down and depressed had deep blues; and there were many others that were everywhere in between with purples and greens.

That wasn’t the only strange thing that happened on your thirtieth birthday. There were a few times you felt the strange energy you woke up with concentrate in your hands. They would warm up and almost tingle when you would reach for something. You didn’t know what any of it was or what it meant, but it was definitely starting to freak you out.

You went home that night and decided to just relax. You weren’t going to be celebrating your birthday with your friends until the weekend. You figured that whatever was happening to you was probably just a fluke, or maybe you had eaten something bad and it was all in your head. You weren’t one to worry about things until they became unavoidable.

You were watching Netflix all curled up on the couch when you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You didn’t know why you felt that way, but you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, willing it to go away. When you did, you could feel an angry and malevolent presence. You sat frozen on the couch, unsure of what to do.

A moment passed and nothing happened. You were about to let your guard down when something inside you told you to move. You quickly got up off the couch and turned around.

Had you sat there for a fraction of a second more, a creature with long, sharp nails and teeth and glowing eyes would have killed you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched it pull its claws from the couch. This couldn’t be real. The thing snarled and began stalking toward you. It came closer and closer and you had backed yourself into a corner. It pulled its hand back, ready to strike. You pushed your hands out to defend yourself and felt that same warmth and tingling you felt earlier in the day. Instead of questioning it, you embraced it.

The monster was thrown across the room, hitting its head on your kitchen counter. It was knocked unconscious, and you stood for a moment trying to understand what just happened.

“How the hell did you do that?” You jumped at the unfamiliar voice coming from your front entryway.

A man stood there, looking to be in his thirties. He had sandy blonde hair and bright green eyes. He held a revolver in his hands, and it switched from pointing at the monster to pointing at you.

You stared back at the man, unsure of who he was or if he wanted to hurt you. As you looked at him, though, you saw a mixture of bright green and deep blues in his aura. There were small pieces of red floating around it, and you tilted your head as you examined it.

“Uh, hello?” He said, waving his gun at you.

“I—I don’t know.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean

“Dean, don’t you think this is a little much?”

Dean looked at his brother, rolling his eyes before turning back to the road.

“I don’t know, Sam, is anything ever too much when you’re dealing with a demon?” He replied.

“We don’t even know if she is a demon, man,” Sam said. Dean knew that Sam didn’t like his “shoot first, ask questions later attitude,” but he didn’t care. It was what kept them safe.

“Yeah, and we would know if _someone_ hadn’t forgotten to bring holy water.”

Sam sighed, looking out the window. Dean knew it wasn’t really Sammy’s fault. They had gone on a simple werewolf case, and there was not really a need for holy water as far as they knew.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled. “I just want to keep us safe is all. When I saw what she did, my first thought was “demon,” so I knocked her out.” Sam looked back at Dean, his eyebrows raised. “You’re lucky I didn’t just kill her,” Dean continued.

“Yeah,” Sam scoffed, “lucky.”

Dean looked in the rear-view mirror at your unconscious body. They had bound your hands with devil-trap cuffs and put you in the back seat. Dean wasn’t sure when you would wake, but he wanted to make sure you couldn’t move when you did.

—-

Dean sat at a table across from you in the dungeon of the bunker. You were finally starting to stir, and he was glad he had strapped you down in the devil’s trap so you couldn’t escape.

As you came to, Sam stepped up to the chair and splashed holy water on your face. Dean waited for the usual sizzling and screaming that accompanied it, but only heard the sounds of you coughing and spitting the water out of your face.

“What the hell?” You asked.

Sam turned to Dean. “Not a demon,” he said in a “told-you-so” voice.

“Yeah, well then what is she?” Dean asked.

“ _She_ is sitting right here,” you said, annoyed. “And she is a human.”

Dean got up and stood in front of you, leaning down so you were face to face. “You can lie all you want, sweetheart, but I know what I saw. And it was not human.”

Dean noticed that you actually looked scared. “Listen, I have no idea how I did what I did, how I threw that...thing. What was it, anyway?” You asked, looking between the brothers.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Like you don’t know.”

“ _I don’t._ ” You emphasized.

“Dean, maybe she’s telling the truth,” Sam said. Sam was always soft when it came to these kinds of things. Dean wasn’t ready to give up that easily.

“Yeah, and maybe I’m the Queen of Sheba.”

You glared at him, clearly not amused by his analogy. “Listen, I don’t know who you guys are, but you need to untie me. I don’t want to hurt anyone, I just want to go home!”

Dean looked at you, the tear running down your cheek not escaping his notice. He grunted a little, grabbing the silver knife from the table and walking toward you.

“Please, please don’t hurt me!” You cried. Dean ignored you, walking up to the chair and making a small cut on your arm. Just like with the holy water, it didn’t sizzle. Whatever you were, it wasn’t a demon or anything that was hurt by silver.

Sam pulled on Dean’s arm, bringing him off to the side. “Dude, I think we should untie her. She doesn’t really seem like she wants to hurt us.”

“That’s what they all say, Sammy!” Even as he said it, though, Dean could feel deep down that you were telling the truth. He sighed, turning back to you. You flinched as he walked toward you, unsure of what he was going to do.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” Dean said softly as he untied you. You nodded, clearly grateful to not be trapped anymore.

“I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean,” the younger brother said, motioning to Dean.

You rubbed at your wrists a little before answering quietly. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you,” Sam continued. “We’re sorry about how we’ve treated you, but as you saw earlier there are scary things out there and we just needed to make sure you weren’t one.”

“Still not sure she isn’t one,” Dean muttered. Sam shot him a look.

“So...that thing was a werewolf? Werewolves are real?” You asked softly.

“Yeah, and shapeshifters, demons, angels, vampires…” Dean said harshly. He had hoped to see your eyes change in some way to reveal what you were out of the list, but they continued to be filled with shock.

“Wow,” you said with a sigh. “I—I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.”

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“Because after the day I’ve had, I’m not so sure I’m not a monster either.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

You

It had been a few hours and the strange men had explained that they were hunters. They actually hunted _monsters_ for a living. They lived in a bunker for God’s sakes.

You explained your day to them and they listened, nodding their heads as if it wasn’t insane.

“Maybe she’s a witch,” Dean said, taking a long pull of his beer.

“A witch? Like big-nose-covered-in-warts-witch?” You asked. Dean smiled a little, seemingly amused by your response.

“Witches don’t have to be ugly, Y/N,” Sam explained. “Really they just dabble in selling their souls to demons and using spells.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t really seem the type to use chicken bones and shit to make a few bucks,” Dean said. He was clearly talking about past experiences.

“Maybe she’s a natural,” Sam said.

“I would hardly call myself a natural. I don’t even know how to use these weirdo powers.” You said.

Sam chuckled a bit. “I don’t mean a natural like the saying,” he started. “There are different types of witches. There are borrowers, who get their powers from other supernatural beings, and there are naturals who come by the powers biologically.”

“That would make sense. That could be why her powers haven’t manifested until now,” Dean said.

“Y/N, do you think anyone in your family could have been a witch?” Sam asked.

Your face dropped a little. “I wouldn’t know. I never met any of my family.”

“Not even your parents?” Dean asked. Sam shot him a look, but you weren’t offended.

“No. They left me at a fire station when I was a newborn. They never wanted me. I grew up in foster homes,” you explained.

“Wow, that must have been hard,” Sam said. You appreciated his attempt at being sensitive, but you really didn’t want to talk about your childhood.

“So it’s entirely possible that someone in my family was a witch. I just wouldn’t know,” you said.

“Yeah. Well, Y/N, you’re welcome to stay here with us while you figure out what’s going on,” Sam said. Dean elbowed him hard and shot him a look. You could tell he didn’t trust you, and for some reason that stung a bit.

“It’s fine, Sam. I’ll just go back home.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. I’ll give you my number. If you need anything, call us, okay?” He looked at you, and you could tell he was being sincere.

“Thanks, Sam. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you replied, standing up. Sam stood up as well.

“I’ll drive you home,” Sam said. You followed him to the door of the library you had been in before turning back to Dean, whose back was to you.

“It was nice to meet you, Dean,” you said. He didn’t turn around and didn’t respond. You didn’t know why he seemed to dislike you so much, but you tried not to let it bother you. You knew you would probably never see him again anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

You

You looked out the window of the amazing ‘67 Impala Dean owned as Sam drove you home. You weren’t sure what the future would hold. You weren’t worried yet, though. You were used to fending for yourself.

Sam pulled up to your house, a small two-bedroom you had bought a few years back. It was a great starter house—not that you had anyone to share it with.

He put the car in park and looked over at you. When you looked back you saw his aura for the first time. It was the most complicated one you had seen yet. There were some colors whose meaning weren’t obvious, but you knew instinctively what they were. A lot of it was similar to his brother’s: deep shades of blue sadness, tinges of red fury...but he also had a lot of regret and guilt, swirling through in a unique shade of mauve.

“Listen, Y/N, I’m sorry about Dean. He’s just wary of trusting outsiders. We’ve been burned a lot in the past,” Sam said, his aura fading from view.

You gave him a small closed-mouth smile. “I know. Thanks, Sam.” You opened the car door and got out, closing it behind you. Before you walked to the house, you bent down, leaning in the open window.

“You’re a good person, Sam. I can tell.” You paused a moment. “And so is Dean.”

Sam smiled, a little taken aback by your words. “Thanks, Y/N. And I’m serious, call if you need anything.”

You smiled before turning and walking into your empty house. Though you had been alone most of your life, this was the first time you truly felt lonely.

—-

Dean

“We don’t even know her, Sam. The answer is no.”

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head, clearly calling for patience. “Dean, I don’t think she’s that bad. I think you should give her a chance.”

“Like we gave Ruby a chance? Like I gave Gadreel a chance? No, Sammy. We always get burned when we do that!” Dean was angry. Sure, you had come off as nice. But in Dean’s experience, that meant jack squat.

He huffed and walked over to the small cart on the side of the library, pouring himself a finger of whiskey.

“She said she could tell I was a good person. She said she could tell you are, too,” Sam said quietly. Dean’s back was still to his brother, and he sighed.

“We’re not talking about this anymore,” Dean said as he turned back to Sam, whose lips were pursed. He stayed silent, turning back to his computer.

Dean wanted to have the trusting nature that Sam had, but whenever he thought about it, all he saw were flashes of all the people they’d lost when they had trusted the wrong person. For all they knew, your naïveté could have all been an act.

Dean stomped off to his room, laying down on his bed with his big headphones on his ears. He put his music on shuffle on his phone and closed his eyes.

_Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night_   
_And wouldn’t you love to love her?_

When Dean’s eyes were closed he couldn’t help but picture your face. By anyone’s standards you were beautiful, that was for sure. You had long, shiny Y/H/C hair, deep Y/E/C eyes, and a near perfect complexion.

_All your life you’ve never seen a woman_   
_Taken by the wind_

He thought about the look on your face when they had asked about your family. You looked hurt, and Dean understood why. You had been abandoned by your family. Dean had been at different times, too. Only your family never wanted you in the first place. That had to hurt.

_Would you stay if she promised you heaven?  
Will you ever win_

And yet, you held your head up high when Dean had all but kicked you out. You were independent, that much was clear. All of this intrigued Dean, and as much as he just wanted to forget about you, his thoughts kept bringing him back.

_Dreams unwind  
Love’s a state of mind_

—-

You

You snapped the hair tie against your wrist a few times, causing a small welt to form on the delicate skin there. Your eyes lingered on it for a moment before you clenched your fist.

Don’t go back there, Y/N.

You took a deep breath and refocused yourself on what you were doing. In the days since you had been back home you had been working on your skills and powers and trying to learn what you could do.

You closed your eyes and hovered your hand over piece of paper you had set on the table in front of you. You focused all your energy to your hand. You could feel a slight tingling warmth flow through your palm and to your fingertips.

When you opened your eyes, you saw that the paper was floating a few inches below your hand. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and smiled.

So far, you had figured out that not only could you read auras, but you could also move objects (so far on a much smaller scale than throwing a werewolf), and light things on fire.

Finding out about the fire had nearly given you a heart attack. You were laying in your bed, trying to fall asleep. You had one of those dreams where you were falling—the kind you have as you’re just about to fall asleep. You shot up in bed, grasping your sheets, and the next thing you knew they were on fire. After careful practice in your backyard fire pit, you found that you could create fire if you concentrated enough (or were scared, apparently).

To say you had been stressed out would be an understatement. Not only had you just found out that supernatural creatures existed: you also found out that you were one of them.

You had always needed an outlet for stress. When you were growing up in the foster homes, things were never easy. A lot of couples foster kids because they like the check that comes along with it. They don’t care about the kids and do not treat them well. You were one of those kids.

You were often left to fend for yourself when it came to food, getting to school, and other basic needs that were usually taken care of by parents. Not to mention the few homes you were in that left you broken and feeling useless.

The sound of your phone ringing brought you back to reality, and you saw that the paper had floated back down to the table.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N, it’s Sam.”

“Hey, Sam, what’s up?” You asked.

“I was actually just wanting to see how you were doing. I know we laid a lot on you the other day, and with your new powers and all…” he said, trailing off.

“I’m fine, Sam, really. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that’s true. But it doesn’t mean you have to go it alone,” he said.

“Well your brother made it pretty clear he didn’t want me around,” you said, remembering Dean’s look of disgust at what you were.

“Yeah, well, sometimes my brother forgets to think with his heart instead of just his brain.”

“Listen, Sam, I’m sure I’ll be fine, but if it makes you feel any better you can call to check in with me whenever you want,” you said, fiddling with the paper in front of you.

You heard Sam sigh in relief. “Thanks, Y/N. It really would.”

You rolled your eyes. This guy really was just a big teddy bear. “Alright, Sam. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later,” he replied before hanging up. You sat back in your chair, rubbing the spot on your wrist with the welt.

_At least I’ll have one friend who understands._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac in case you don’t know :)


	5. Chapter 5

Dean

It had been a week, and Dean still couldn’t get you out of his mind.

_Damn it, Sam gave me a guilty conscience._

He found himself wondering what you were doing and how you were coping with your new powers. He had actually picked up Sammy’s phone twice—even going as far as looking at your contact with his finger hovering over it—before setting it back down and walking away.

Doing that was how Dean found out that Sam had been talking to you.

He had picked up the phone and accidentally hit the recent call list instead of the contact list. Since a couple days after you had left, Sam had talked to you almost every day.

“Sam!” Dean yelled into the bunker.

“What?” He responded, coming from the kitchen.

“You’ve been talking to her?” Dean asked, holding up the phone.

Sam’s jaw clenched. “What’re you doing looking through my phone?”

Dean didn’t want to admit the real reason. “Never mind that. Why’ve you been talking to her?”

“Look, Dean,” Sam said, taking the phone from his hand, “I just wanted to make sure she’s doing okay.”

“Sam, she’s not our problem. You should have just let her be!” In truth, Dean’s words were more for himself than for his brother.

“Dean, there’s no reason for her to become evil. She’s a good person, and I just think if we help her with her powers then she could use them for good.”

Sam had a point. Dean really hated the risk, but apparently he wouldn’t stop thinking of you regardless.

“Fine. But if this turns into a shit show, it’s on you,” Dean said, walking away. Even though he was being mean to Sam, deep down he knew he was glad he had been talking to you.

—-

You

_I can’t handle this._

You sat on your bed with your knees to your chest. You had put yourself there, thinking it may be the safest thing to do for the time being.

In the week since you’d found out you had powers, you had learned more about them, yes; however, you had also had a lot of issues.

So far you had lit something on fire by accident nearly twenty times. It was a mad panic each time, as you had to find a way to put it out before it spread. The feat you had experienced in levitating the piece of paper had yet to be replicated. So, not only were you afraid for your life, but you also felt like a failure.

Talking to Sam had been somewhat nice. He wasn’t there, though. And the best advice he could give you was just to keep practicing.

So there you sat, afraid to touch anything, miserable, and alone. The stress was building and building, and you felt you would explode if you didn’t do something soon.

You took your hand away from your knee and picked up the shiny silver blade you had placed on the bed. It had been a long time since you used it, and every slice you had made in your skin had faded to light scars.

You knew you shouldn’t do it. You knew that it was bad, that it was considered a psychological disorder.

_If it’s so bad, why do I always feel so much better when I do it?_

It’s not like anyone would know. Nor would they care. The only friends you had didn’t even seem to care that you’d dropped off the face of the earth in the last week. You’d taken vacation time from work, fearing you’d set the place on fire. No one questioned it.

You placed the tip of the blade against the skin on your inner arm, near some of your faded scars. A small dot of blood bubbled up where you had pierced the tip. You felt a small amount of relief, but it wasn’t enough.

You pulled the blade gently across your arm, leaving an angry red line of blood. You hissed out a breath, almost feeling the stress leave your body. You picked up the blade to make another cut when your phone rang.

_Sam Winchester_

You put the blade down and answered your phone as you walked to the bathroom for some tissue.

“Hey, Sam,” you said into the phone.

“Y/N, hi, how are you?” He asked.

“I’m great,” you lied. The blood had already soaked through one tissue and you needed another.

“Well, listen, Dean and I were talking,” he began. You started to panic.

_Oh no. Dean told him he can’t talk to me anymore. I’m alone._

“And we were thinking that maybe you’d wanna come stay with us for a bit,” he finished.

“Wh—what?”

“I’m sorry if that’s weird...we just figured we have all this space at the bunker, and even a big open room where you could train and practice with your powers.”

“That...that actually sounds great, Sam,” you told him honestly. You knew that being alone wasn’t good for you right now.

“Okay, great! I’ll come pick you up in about an hour if that’s okay. Unless you wanted to drive over here,” he said quickly.

“I actually don’t have a car. I usually use public transportation.”

“Okay. Then I’ll see you soon!” Sam said excitedly before hanging up the phone.

You put the phone down and looked down at your arm. A new kind of stress was rising up in you: the stress of being around Dean and his hatred for you.

You needed to pack, but not before making a few more lines on your body to relieve the new anxiety.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Self-harm

Dean

Sam and Dean pulled up to the bunker around the same time: Sam having gone in the Impala to pick you up and Dean having gone to get some groceries in one of the many other old cars they had inherited.

You got out of the car and Dean noticed how serious you looked. You were wearing big sunglasses, so Dean couldn’t see your eyes, but your mouth was in a straight line. You wore a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans, a fairly warm choice considering the nice day outside. Not that he had room to talk, seeing as he wore flannels in almost any weather.

As you walked past him with Sam, Dean merely nodded in your direction in greeting.

_That’s nice, Dean. Real nice._

Dean wished he would have said something, but he felt his pride get in the way. Besides, who’s to say that he still wouldn’t be right about you?

He stood for a minute in the garage after the two of you had gone in, unsure of what to do. Eventually he decided to just go. He didn’t have to really talk to you, but he could at least see what you were saying to Sam.

“...and here is where you will be staying,” Sam was saying as he walked into the bedroom across from Dean’s and flicked on the light.

“Thanks, Sam. It’s great, really,” Dean heard you respond. He continued down the hall and leaned against the doorframe of your new room. He watched as you sat your bag down on the bed and turned around to face them.

Your sunglasses were off now, and Dean could see that you were exhausted. There were bags and dark circles under your eyes, and there was a look in your eyes that Dean was sure he had seen somewhere before, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Your eyes met his and Dean gave you a small smile. Something about seeing you like this made him feel bad about the way he had treated you.

Your mouth twitched a little in a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, and Dean realized what the familiar look was.

He had seen it in Cas’s eyes, his brother’s eyes, and even his own in the mirror. It was the look that accompanied the feeling of having the weight of the world on your shoulders.

—-

You

You placed your last piece of clothing in the dresser that was provided in your room at the bunker. You closed the drawer and turned around, breathing in deeply.

The room was stark. There was only a bed, dresser, and bedside table—but something about it already made it feel more like a home than your house ever did.

You were embarrassed, but you had brought your razor blades with you just in case. You had hidden them under your mattress, and you were already itching to pull them out. The emotions raging inside you were almost too much to handle. In the end, exhaustion won out and you laid down on the bed, your eyes closing immediately as you fell into a deep slumber quickly.

“ _What is wrong with you?”_

_You cowered on the floor next to your bed, where you had landed after his last blow._

_“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you managed to whimper out._

_“Don’t know what I’m talking about? So you’re a fucking idiot, too?” You foster dad spat out._

_You wracked your brain for what you could have done to upset him. He was a piece of shit, and you did your best to stay away from him. However, you lived in his house, so there was only so much you could do—as a 16-year-old with no car—to stay out of his way._

_He scoffed at your lack of response. “What part of ‘pick up milk on the way home’ did you not understand?”_

_You closed your eyes, angry with yourself for making such a stupid mistake. “I’m sorry. I must have forgotten. I—“_

_You were cut off by his massive hand landing a blow across your face. “Forgotten? You were out slutting around is what you were doing.”_

_“No.” You were firm with your answer, and something about it felt odd. This wasn’t the way the memory went._

_“No? I’ll show you to ever back-talk me!” He rushed toward you and you stood up quickly._

_“NO!” You said as you felt the energy flowing through your body and to your hands. In the next moment he was pinned to the wall, seemingly unable to breathe._

_“Y/N!” He choked out, and you pushed harder._

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You opened your eyes. You were standing next to your bed, your hands outstretched. You looked up to see that you had pinned Sam to the wall, not your foster dad. Dean stood close to you, yelling your name and trying to get you out of your trance.

You immediately dropped your hands and Sam slid down the wall, choking and coughing.

You brought your hand up and covered your mouth, shocked and horrified.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you said, tears spilling from your eyes. Dean stood staring at you silently.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You were asleep,” he said through gasping breaths.

“I—I can’t believe I did that.” Dean still said nothing, and Sam continued to comfort you. “I’ll be back. I just need a minute,” you said. You tried to slyly grab your small packet from under your mattress while Dean was helping Sam up and ran to the bathroom.

You closed and locked the door before sliding down it and bringing your knees to your chest.

_Things are not getting better._

_I already nearly killed Sam._

_Coming here was a mistake._

The thoughts swirled round your head until the pressure was too much.

You tore open the small satchel of blades and quickly unbuttoned your jeans. You pulled them down a bit and made a rather deep and hasty cut on your thigh, breathing a sigh of relief when the pain hit you.

The blood slid down your skin, and you knew you had probably gone too deep. You grabbed some toilet paper and began sopping it up, glad when you realized you at least wouldn’t need stitches.

“Y/N?” Sam called from the other side of the door as he knocked.

“Uh, just a minute!” You called, trying to stop the bleeding from your leg. You hastily pulled your pants up and hid the razors away, wedging them between the toilet tank and the wall where they wouldn’t be easily found.

You opened the door to see Sam’s concerned face. “Hey, are you okay? I’m not upset with you, I promise—“ he began. He looked at you and his face grew even more concerned. “Are—are you hurt? You have blood on your hands.”

_Shit_. “Oh, uh, no. I think I just dug my nails into my palms when I was asleep. I’m fine.”

He looked at you questioningly, but accepted your explanation. “Huh, well it looks like you got some on your pants, too. We can get that in the laundry.” You looked at your thigh where the blood was beginning to seep through from the cut you had made. You shrugged and covered it with your hand so he couldn’t tell that you were actually bleeding.

“I’m so sorry, Sam. Maybe I should just go home,” you said, looking down and shaking your head.

“No. This is why you are here. We’re going to help you learn how to control these powers. Besides, you were asleep, and clearly having a nightmare. It’s not your fault that that was how your body reacted. I came in to wake you up when I heard you screaming, and that’s how you got me. So it was partially my fault, too.”

You gave him a look of disbelief. There was no way it was his fault even a little bit.

He smiled at the face you made. “Just—just come out, okay? It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to go change, okay?” You said, gesturing to the blood on your hands.

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll bring you some clothes from your room so you can just hop in the shower if you want.”

“Thanks, Sam.” He left and you stripped down, stepping into the shower. When the water hit your cut you hissed, but let the pain ground you, red swirling down the drain with the water. Sam knocked and left clothes just inside the door. When you got out, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

_What are you doing, Y/N?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been so long, folks. Hope you enjoy!

Dean

“She nearly killed you, Sam!” Dean yelled. You were in the bathroom, and Sam had just brought you new clothes.

“I know, Dean. But you saw her face. She was horrified. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She just needs to learn how to control her powers.” He sat down on the library table while Dean paced around.

“Sam, we’ve been down this road before,” Dean began, stopping to look at Sam. “Trusting unfamiliar creatures has only led us down a bad road!”

“What about Cas? What about Benny? Or Meg? All of them have sacrificed their lives for us. You know that not all supernatural beings are bad!” Sam responded angrily.

“Right, but so far, this chick has thrown you against a wall and nearly strangled you.”

“And Meg possessed me. Cas tried to take over as God. Things change, Dean. People change. Besides, what she did was accidental. She doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body.” Sam got up from the table and walked toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going? We’re having a discussion!” Dean yelled.

Sam stopped at the entry to the kitchen and turned to Dean. “No, Dean. For once I am making the decision. Y/N is staying, and I’m not talking about it anymore,” he said before walking away.

Dean sighed, exasperated. If Sammy was bent on trusting you, that just meant that Dean was going to have to keep an eye on you for the both of them. “Fine. But I still don’t trust her,” he muttered to no one.

—-

Dean walked down the empty halls of the bunker, unsure of where you and Sam had gone. The bunker was huge, and sometimes it was hard to find each other in the labyrinth of halls and rooms.

He eventually came upon you both in the training area. Every piece of exercise equipment had been moved to the side to create a big open space. He leaned against the doorway and watched you for a moment.

Sam was standing across the room from you. He took a big rubber ball and tossed it in your direction. You reached your hand out as if to touch it, but nothing happened.

Sam retrieved the ball and went back to his spot. “Okay, Y/N, now concentrate as hard as you can,” he said, showing her the ball before tossing it again.

Dean watched you. Your face was a mask of concentration—your eyes narrowed, your forehead a little misty, and your mouth set in a hard line. As the ball came in your direction you pushed your hand out, your chest heaving with exertion.

The ball got to your level and stopped in mid-air. It hung there for a moment before dropping to the ground. When it did, you fell to your knees.

Before Dean knew what he was doing, he was rushing to your side.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, kneeling beside you. You blinked your eyes a few times and looked up at him. Your eyes travelled around the space near his head, and you smiled.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said. Dean extended his hand and helped you up. You continued to look around his head.

“What’re you looking at?” He asked accusingly.

A small smile graced your features. “You were worried about me,” you said softly.

“Psh, no. N-No I wasn’t,” Dean said. He knew how he said it was not believable.

You leaned forward a bit, motioning for him to do so as well, as if you were going to tell him a secret.

“Auras don’t lie,” you whispered. With that you turned around and picked up the ball, tossing it back to Sam. Dean felt his cheeks redden.

_Damn that power of hers. It has to be wrong anyway. I wasn’t worried. She could be a monster for all we know. Yeah. Definitely not worried._

Dean didn’t even believe himself. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a light and fun chapter. Hope you enjoy!

You

It had actually been a few days since you had cut yourself. Sam had been working with you on your powers and you were slowly but surely improving.

Dean was finally being nicer to you—not that he spent much time near you anyway. He kept his distance, which was probably for the best. You were afraid you would accidentally hurt him and give him another reason to get rid of you anyway.

All of this had kept you from getting too anxious. When you would have trouble with your training you would itch to run to the bathroom and cut yourself for some relief. However, Sam was good at encouraging you to get right back on the horse, and you found yourself distracted quickly enough that you didn’t have to cut.

One night, though, you found yourself alone with Dean in the bunker. To say you were nervous was an understatement.

Sam had gone out for the night with a girl he had met a few weeks earlier. He asked you about a million times if you would be okay staying home, and you reassured him that you were a big girl and could handle it.

Dean had been off to the side during the conversation, grumbling under his breath. Your plan had been to just stay in your room and avoid him altogether.

That plan didn’t quite pan out, though, when you found your stomach growling around dinner time. You ventured out of your room and into the kitchen where you found Dean standing in front of the stove cooking himself a burger.

“H-Hey, Dean,” you said cautiously.

He turned from the stone and eyed you up and down before turning back. “Yo,” he said flatly.

“Sorry to bother you. I was just gonna make a sandwich or something and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

You saw Dean’s head hang a little bit and he sighed before turning around again.

“You want a burger?” He asked. A burger sounded and smelled amazing, but you didn’t want him to be mad.

“Oh, I don’t want you to have to make me one,” you said softly.

“It’s fine, I’ve got plenty,” he said. He looked sincere and like it wasn’t putting him out, so you nodded.

“That would be great, actually,” you said. “Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked.

Dean jerked his head toward the refrigerator. “If you could just get out burger toppings that would be great,” he said. His tone was a little nicer than before, and you gladly did as he asked.

When the burgers were done, Dean flipped them onto some toasted buns and brought them to the table, where you had put out all the fixings for them.

He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the table. You froze, afraid you had done something wrong. He looked at you with a glare.

“No barbecue sauce? Really?” He asked. You knew then that he wasn’t actually mad, he was just messing around.

“You put barbecue sauce on your burgers? What is wrong with you?” You asked, returning the sass.

“Um, it’s only the best condiment on burgers, ever.” He said, walking over to the fridge.

“Yeah, maybe if you’re an insane person,” you muttered.

Dean returned with the sauce and sat across from you.

“Oh, yeah? Let me see you build your burger,” he said, gesturing to the condiments.

“Okay, fine.” You carefully added lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles to your burger before topping the buns off with some ketchup and mayo.

“Psh, amateur,” he said.

“What’s wrong with this? This is a good old classic hamburger!” You replied.

“That is boring! Besides, you’re missing the best topping there is,” he said.

“What’s that?” You asked.

“Bacon,” he said before getting up and getting the plate of it he had left on the counter.

“Well, duh,” you said. “If I had known there was bacon that would have been topping numero uno!”

Dean laughed at you as you picked up a hearty helping of bacon and smushed it on top of your burger.

You fell into a comfortable silence as you ate. You were surprised that Dean was being so cool, and somehow you got the courage to ask him about it.

“So...do you still hate me?” You asked.

He stopped mid-chew and looked at you, weighing how he wanted to answer.

“I don’t hate you, Y/N. I just...don’t trust easily,” he said after he swallowed.

You nodded. “I get that. People kinda suck.”

Dean smiled and laughed lightly, making small lines around his eyes appear. You noticed then how nice he looked when he smiled. Obviously you would have to be blind to not notice he’s attractive. But when he smiled, it made his green eyes shine.

“Yeah, they kinda do. You know...I did notice something…” he began. “Never mind.”

“What?” You asked.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” he replied, picking up his burger.

“Seriously, what?”

“Well, when we met, I know you were freaked out and everything, but you still had this...confidence about you.”

“Really?” You asked, blushing a little.

“Yeah. But when you came back to stay with us, you were different somehow.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“You seemed...I don’t know...deflated. Like that confidence had been sucked dry,” he explained. You thought about what he was saying, and realized that it was probably because you had started cutting again. It made you feel better, sure. But you knew that it affected your personality when you did it. You became this meekly thing that was dependent on a vice.

You knew you couldn’t explain this to Dean. He would think you were even more of a freak than you already are.

“Yeah...I think it was just the stress of everything. You know, setting your house on fire multiple times can really affect a person’s confidence.” You tried to keep things light, and it worked. Dean chuckled and nodded.

“Yeah, I guess I don’t blame you. Anyway, I’m sorry if I made you think I hate you. I’m just trying to be cautious is all.”

You smiled. “It’s fine, I get it. And I’m going to do what I can to earn your trust.”

Dean flashed you a dazzling smile, and you actually felt like you would swoon like a black-and-white movie actress.

“Can you pass the pickles?” He asked after a moment.

Feeling some of your confidence return, you smiled and held out your hand in the direction of the pickle jar. After a few seconds of concentration, it slid down the table and into your hand. You gave it to Dean who was chuckling and nodding his head in approval.

“Been practicing I see,” he said, taking a spear out of the jar and munching on it.

“Yep, and there’s more where that came from.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” he said. You felt your heartbeat pick up and you knew it was dumb, but you were really looking forward to ‘sometime.’


	9. Chapter 9

Dean

Dean had been hanging out with you more and more often. When you weren’t training with Sam (which he also found himself watching more and more), the three of you would eat together, and sometimes you and Dean would watch movies, listen to music, and just talk.

Ever since that first night, you hadn’t given Dean a reason to not trust you. He came to realize that Sam must have been right: what you did was just because you were asleep and having a nightmare. Dean had been itching to ask you about your nightmares. They happened almost every night, and he would hear you screaming from your room. Sam and Dean had learned to keep their distance when it happened so you didn’t throttle them.

He did wonder what they were about, though. He knew it had to be something from your past, otherwise you would have told them about it. It’s not like people are afraid to talk about nightmares about killer clowns or falling.

Plus, Dean had some experience with nightmares. Hell, his whole life had pretty much been a freakin’ nightmare. Not to mention the after effects of going to Hell.

Then there were moments when Dean stopped to ask himself, “Why do I care?” Deep down he knew. Not only did he have a need to help people, but he found himself thinking about you nearly all the time.

You were hott, sure. But you were also such a good person. You were fun and easy to talk to, and you were always worrying about everyone else before yourself. Something about you was kind and gentle, but you could also be sassy and confident. It made Dean want to get to know you more—to understand deeper things about you.

One night, the three of you had watched a random movie you had picked: Jurassic Park. The three of you had laughed through the whole thing, discussing the special effects and silly actors.

“Well, I’m gonna hit the hay. Night, guys,” Sam said, leaving the two of you on the couch.

You looked over at Dean and gave a tight-lipped smile. He wasn’t sure if you felt uncomfortable or just weren’t sure what to do next. So, he took the lead.

“So, Y/N, I was wondering...what was it like growing up in foster homes?” Dean asked.

You smiled. “Just jumping right in there, huh?” You asked.

“Well if you can’t be bold then what’s the point, right?” Dean cursed internally, knowing that made no sense at all. Luckily you just laughed.

“Honestly? It was pretty bad. I know some kids have a great experience, and that there are good families out there...but I was not one of those kids.”

Dean turned toward you. The two of you were on opposite sides of the couch, and he felt himself itching to be closer to you.

“So what happened?” He asked.

“A lot,” you said. Your face turned dark. “I bounced from home to home, never really finding a good one. Like I said before, a lot of the people that become foster parents only do it for the money, especially in a place like where I grew up. There are so many children in need of homes that the foster agencies just take whoever they can as foster parents without looking into them too much.”

Dean was trying to wrap his head around this. Sure, his childhood had been no picnic, but he had his dad and Sammy.

“So, what, were the foster parents just mean or neglecting or something?”

“Let’s just say that would have been nice,” you said, looking down. Dean noticed you were touching your wrist. You had a hair tie there, and you were pulling it and letting it hit you.

_Must be a nervous habit._

Dean dreaded his next question, but for some reason, he wanted to know. “Did...did they hurt you?”

You were silent for a moment, and it looked like you were contemplating your answer. Your eyes finally lifted to Dean’s. “Yes.”

Dean felt anger flash through him. He knew this was all a long time ago, but he felt like he wanted to hunt down whoever hurt you and make them pay.

You bit your lip as you waited for Dean’s reaction. How could anyone hurt her? She’s so...his mind searched for the word. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the word was ‘perfect.’

“Son of a bitch,” he said finally. He said it softly, more disappointed than anything. Your eyes held so much sadness, and Dean felt the urge to make it go away.

He scooted closer to you on the couch, reaching out for your hand. You let him take it and he looked into your Y/E/C eyes.

“I’m so sorry that you went through that. No one...especially you, should be treated like that.”

You gave him a closed-lip smile. “So, Sam was telling me a little about the stuff you guys have gone through the last several years. I mean that’s...wow.”

Dean felt himself stiffen. Anyone who knew him knew he didn’t like to talk about his own feelings and what had happened to him.

“Yeah, well...that’s over now, so…” he replied, wanting to change the subject.

“Yeah, but doesn’t that still affect you? I mean, you guys went through some seriously hard shit. Not to mention you’ve been to Hell and back…”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I mean, really, I just moved on and everything is cool.” He was lying, obviously. He didn’t want to get into all that, though, and he especially didn’t want you to think he’s weak.

You looked a little deflated. “Oh. Well, good. Listen, I’m gonna head to bed.”

Before Dean could even respond, you were up and leaving. He didn’t know what he did, but he clearly had upset you.

_Damn it._


	10. Chapter 10

You

_God, I’m so weak and stupid._

Dean had been through so much. It was so much worse than anything you had ever experienced, and yet, he was just fine.

_He’s such a better person than I am._

You felt the disappointment suffocating you. You thought maybe he of all people would understand what you struggle with.

_How could I have been so naive?_

He wouldn’t understand. People like him are heroes.

_People like me are foolish._

You grabbed the small razor kit from under your mattress and stole away to the bathroom. You lifted your shirt and sliced several lines into your stomach. The cutting made you feel better, and at the same time worse.

Every cut you made reminded you that you couldn’t handle your life, that normal people could go through what you’d been through and move on with their lives. Realizing that just made you cut more.

After a few minutes you were getting dizzy—from the pain or blood loss, you weren’t sure. You rubbed a hand down your face and felt the tears there. You didn’t even know you had started crying.

You slipped the razors into your pocket and tried to get up. The room spun and you immediately fell to the floor with a loud thud.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Dean asked from outside the door.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” you said quietly. He had heard it, but you knew it wasn’t convincing.

“You don’t sound fine. I’m coming in,” he said, opening the door. He looked at you crumpled on the floor and immediately knelt down to help you.

“What happened?” He asked, checking you over but seeing nothing. Luckily you had cleaned up the blood and covered yourself back up before getting up.

“Uh, I don’t know. I just got lightheaded. Maybe I didn’t eat enough today,” you lied. His eyebrows creased in confusion but he let it go.

“Here, let me help you to your room,” he said, helping you up on your wobbly legs. He walked you to your bed and you laid down carefully. Your stomach was throbbing from the cuts there, and you just wanted Dean to get out.

“Thanks, goodnight,” you said quickly.

“Goodnight—“ he began. He stopped from leaving, turning to fully look at you. “Are you bleeding?” He asked.

 _Shit_.

“Oh, uh, no, I’m fine,” you said, trying to hide the blood seeping through your shirt.

“Yes, you are. Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” He asked, coming over.

“No. Dean, I said I’m fine.”

“Y/N, come on, I see that you’re bleeding. Just let me take a look,” he said, reaching to lift your shirt.

“I said NO!” You yelled. He pulled his hand away, confused and hurt.

He watched you with concerned eyes, and you felt a wall break. It was uncontrollable, and your eyes filled with tears.

“Y/N, let me look, okay?” He said softly. You said nothing, tears streaming down your face. You moved your hands and he slowly lifted the hem of your shirt.

“Y/N,” he gasped. His eyes traveled over your skin, taking in the bleeding new cuts to the just healed ones to the old scars.

“There, are you happy now? Now you know. I’m a stupid, stupid, weak girl.” You felt anger bubbling inside you for having to show him. You ripped off your shirt and pulled down your pants, standing before him in just your bra and panties.

Dean’s eyes slid up and down your body, taking in the countless scars and cuts that marred your skin.

After a moment he finally spoke, concern filling his eyes. “W-Why...how long?”

You swallowed hard, angrily wiping the tears from your cheeks. “On and off since the foster homes,” you replied.

Dean’s jaw set and you could tell he had a lot to say. “Listen, we’re going to talk about this, believe me, but right now we need to patch you up. That cut on your stomach is too deep. You need stitches. I’m gonna go get Sammy and he can—“

“No! Please, Dean, no. You can’t tell anyone, especially Sam. I can get this under control, I promise. Just please, don’t tell him.”

Dean’s green eyes pierced into your pleading ones. After a moment he nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it myself. And I won’t tell him. But you have to promise to stop. And you have to hand over your razors. Now.”

You nodded your head frantically, taking the small pouch of razors out of your pocket on the floor. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll stop, I promise.”

You knew it was an empty promise. You had ‘stopped’ many times before, but always ended up back here. It’s not like Dean would understand anyway. He’s fine. He doesn’t need anything to help with the pain of his past.

Dean quietly left and got the first aid kit. In a few minutes he had stitched you up and you were laying in your bed.

“You know we’re not done talking about this, right?” He said as he packed up the first aid kit.

“I know. But I’m exhausted.”

“Alright. Sleep well. And promise me again that you won’t do this to yourself ever again,” he said, squeezing your hand. Looking into his eyes you wanted so badly for it to be the truth when you replied, “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya catch the irony there towards the end? *cough cough* Dean’s an alcoholic


End file.
